


You Are My Biggest Masterpiece

by thegirlwholikestowrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, College AU, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Homophobic Language, Human Castiel, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Living Together, M/M, PTSD John, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwholikestowrite/pseuds/thegirlwholikestowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a quiet art student. Castiel Novak is a poet, loves to write. But not more than he loves Dean. As their loves get tangled together, the only way out is to love each other more. If that's possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Biggest Masterpiece

Keeping his eyes off of him was one thing, wanting to do that was another. The dark haired boy was busy with his work, head buried into his book, allowing Dean to watch him freely. The way his hair was swept over his blue eyes, the way he turned the pages of the dusty book made Dean want to look closer. It was as if a gem was buried under soil but it was sparkling anyway. Yes, in fact the boy was sparkling.   
Dean smiled to himself. He had to learn his name, memorize every inch of his face. The boy could light up the dark summer night with one smile of his; Dean had to give him something in return. He sat back into his chair and got one last good look of him. Pulling out his paper and charcoal, he started drawing.  
His final project was due next week, he could as well draw this piece of heavenly beauty.   
It wasn’t easy to start drawing him. He wasn’t used to illustrating things without flaws, without a crook or a cut, without a misplaced angle, without an imperfection. He usually started out with the flaws, with the crooked nose, with messy hair. With him, it was impossible.  
He dropped the charcoal with a taste of failure in his mouth, causing the boy to look up. He smiled patiently. Dean couldn’t help but smile back. He was the sun and Dean was the moon, his light reflected on Dean. He held the charcoal tight in his hand, smearing the black coal into his fingers. He wiped them on his jeans and looked up.  
He watched as the boy packed his books and left with a small wave to his way. Dean found himself packing up after him, scrambling to his feet. As he did so, his foot hit a small bump. Confused, he looked down under the table. His eyes landed over a notebook, he reached for it instinctively.   
It was a leather, black journal. It was signed in the back: Castiel Novak.   
It must be his, he thought. He was curious, but whatever the boy wrote on there, it must have been as beautiful as him, he didn’t dare to look at it. After minutes of staring into the black journal, he gave in.   
His handwriting was stunning. Black wavy letters curved around the page, leaving a trace of his soul. He knew he was invading his privacy, but how was it a crime to want to look at art? How was it a crime to watch the artist while doing so?   
One page, he said to himself. I will only read one page.   
“I loved you when I saw you today and I loved you always but I never saw you before.”   
Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know what he had expected from the blue eyed boy, but it wasn’t this. He was not expecting a description of his thoughts towards him. He was not expecting to be understood.   
How he made Dean feel when he smiled, how blue his eyes were, those things weren’t foreign.  
He wasn’t the type to believe in love at the first sight or soul mates. He made fun of them, he laughed at poor deluded individuals who believed in a supernatural idea not intended for them. No, this wasn’t a love at the first sight or soul mate type of thing.   
The boy had managed to become the center of his universe with a simple stare; it was scary to think what he could do with that power. He stared at the handwriting more than he intended. His thoughts blurred. He felt as if he was tumbleweed and he was wind. He was flying, trembling, going somewhere, but he didn’t know where yet.  
He put the journal between his books. It was not meant to be found or read. Not by him, not by anyone else. He was jealous of the boy’s thoughts, even to himself.  
He walked around the campus before he went back to his apartment, hoping to see him one more time. He threw his stuff over the table, watching as the sketch fell in between his books. He picked it up; he was nowhere close to making this good, making it look like him. He ignored the fact he had to study for exams or do homework. So he did what he always did when he needed to draw something important.  
He went to the kitchen and poured himself coffee, pushing aside the undone dishes from weeks ago. Picking up his charcoal, he seated himself on the old, gray couch. He drew his eyebrows, slightly raised, his black hair parted to the side, his lips curved into a slight smile, his jawline firm. He worked on the eyes more than he normally would. His most perfect feature had to look as perfect as is. He made them shining, like it did when he smiled. He did it over and over again. Pages of him drawn from different angles piled up on the coffee table. He kept drawing, it was like watching him, maybe not quite seeing him, but it was enough for Dean. He fell asleep with the charcoal in his hand and Castiel in his mind.  
Days passed without seeing him, he kept on drawing. The pile grew bigger. He could no longer fit them into his folder. He found an old shoe box and placed them in it carefully. He put the box under his bed and walked back to the living room, where he found his phone ringing.  
“Sam?”  
“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”  
“You know, school and projects. Nothing new. You?”  
“Uh… I am fine. I just… I was calling to ask you for…”  
“Money? Sammy you know you can ask me without feeling bad about it. This is your first year, I know how it is. Whatever you need, you can ask me.”  
“I know. I just… Dad called, about you… again.”  
“What did he say?” He waited in absolute silence as Sam prepared an answer for him. He knew what was coming, either another cussing-Dean-out session or telling him to ask for forgiveness. He could take the first, but the second was too much to ask. He had done nothing wrong.   
“He… he told me if I called you again, he would stop talking to me too. You know he is paying most of the college money and I don’t want to make him mad…”  
“It’s your choice Sammy. I am your brother, I am not going to ask you to stay with your sinner brother. Dad didn’t kick me out remember, I left by myself. I don’t give a single damn about what he thinks of me. If you really care about your school, then go back to it and don’t call me for shit like this.”  
“Dean…”  
He hung up. He had to get ready for his class anyway. In 15 minutes, he was out the door. He walked to the other side of the building where his class was. On his way, he fixed the “Looking for a Flat mate” sign. He couldn’t afford the lease by himself, let alone utilities. He had a job, but it didn’t pay all that well.   
He spent the whole class time sketching the face of the boy, or his lips, or his eyes, whatever came to his mind. The class was over, everyone was packing. He gathered the papers together and made his way out. The professor stopped him.  
“Winchester, can we have a moment?” He nodded, confused.  
“You didn’t seem well today, are you ill? If you had asked me I would have excused you.”   
“Uhm… not really. I mean… I am fine, thank you for asking sir.” The professor didn’t seem to believe him, Dean was a terrible liar, maybe not verbally, but his green eyes told the whole story.  
“I think I should also remind you of the final project. It is due tomorrow. Can I see it, if it is okay with you of course?”  
Dean shook his head, making up something about leaving it at home and promising to finish it tonight. He was tired of lying to people, but he couldn’t just blurt out his tragic backstory and his crush on the dude he saw once and that he had dreams about him or he constantly drew his face.   
He left the building and went straight home. Home. It was funny, it was the farthest thing from what he called home. He didn’t have a home, that is if you don’t count those blue oceans for eyes.  
“Hey, nobody, I am home.” He was generally by himself, if he wasn’t screwing a random girl, or drinking with Sam. He liked to be by himself, walk by himself, eat by himself. At least he was free to do whatever he wanted. But he hated to feel lonely. At nights like this, he found company in charcoal and paper. Today, it was one of those nights, and he hated every minute of it.  
He was almost done with the nose when his phone started ringing. He cursed under his breath, he didn’t want to get up. Groaning as he did so, he kicked the blanket and left the warmth of the couch.   
It was an unknown number.  
“Hello?”   
“Uh… hi. I was calling about the… apartment. I heard you were looking for someone to stay with.”  
“Yeah, yeah. That was me. Are you thinking about moving in immediately?”  
“Yes, yes. As soon as possible… if that is okay with you, of course.”  
“Sure, what about we talk about it tomorrow? It is getting pretty late. I have a class early in the morning, what about lunch?”  
“Oh… okay. School cafeteria?”  
“No, of course. We can get pizza. My treat.”  
“Okay. Sure. Thanks. Good night.”  
Dean smiled at how awkward the boy was, it reminded him of Sam, his little brother. He was an awkward child, funny he was growing up to be a lawyer. He returned back to the couch and fell asleep the moment he put his head down.  
He woke up to his stomach growling. He hadn’t eaten for a while. He opened the fridge: couple of eggs, cheese, leftover Chinese food and some olives. He decided he could wait until lunch and went to class. He spent his time drawing Castiel again. There was something to him that Dean adored, he couldn’t figure out what. But that something was both keeping Dean alive and keeping Dean from living.   
As he drew, he remembered his final project. He couldn’t just give his teacher a sketch of a man. He would certainly ask questions. Plus, Dean didn’t want to share him, his beauty, his absoluteness.   
He exited the class without saying a word. It was chilly outside, he hugged himself as he shivered. The hallow emptiness inside his chest ached. He had no one to laugh with, or just be with in general. After the incident, all his friends, including his brother had abandoned him, leaving him alone to face the cruel reality of the world by himself. He felt sorry for himself. He quietly walked to the pizza place where he would be meeting his hopefully, new “flat mate.”   
He had gotten used to feeling lonely, but he would never get used to the empty feeling inside him. He would never get used to being alone in this world, all by himself, yet so not himself.   
He found a seat next to window and started playing with the packet of salt left on the table. Accidentally ripping it and spilling out the salt everywhere, he sighed. He would never be good enough for anything. Every small movement of his caused something to break, to rip, to hurt. He wasn’t good for anything. At least, that’s what he thought.   
He could feel his heart leaping out of his chest as he saw the blue eyed boy walking towards him. His brain couldn’t function, as if all the blood had rushed to his heart and it was busy pumping it. That was a good explanation for the constant beating inside his chest.  
He could hear it at the back of his skull, echoing.   
“Hello. Uh… are you Dean Winchester, I called you yesterday night for the flat mate thing?”  
He opened his lips to say something but nothing came out. He settled for a simple nod. Though he was pretty sure his expression said so, he wanted to tell him that he was beautiful, constantly, repeatedly. He was surprised how people could ignore the god-like beauty of his, how they could keep functioning. Unlike Dean, he wasn’t really ignoring that.  
“Hey. I am Dean, yes.” He tried to smile, force all his muscles to cooperate. Castiel returned the smile with a cute grin.  
God, he is so beautiful, he thought.   
“So what are you looking for… flat mate-wise I mean.”   
“As long as you are fine with papers scattered around everywhere and no major parties, I am cool with anything.”  
“Anything?” Castiel raised his eyebrows and smiled. It must be an inside joke for him Dean thought. The rest of the conversation went on about the rules, he sometimes noticed Castiel looking at him. Not looking at him, but staring into him. As they talked, the familiarity grew bigger. After an hour or so, Dean was laughing at a joke he made, a really stupid one. He hadn’t laughed in what… ages? It felt good to feel the muscles burning from smiling too big, or his stomach feeling like he had done a hundred sit-ups.  
“Hey, Cas. I can call you Cas, is that okay?”  
“Everyone calls me Cas. But asking for permission, that was nice.” He smiled. It warmed Dean. He let his hands rest in the middle of the table, playing with them nervously.  
“I know this is going to sound absolutely crazy but… uh… since the day I saw you in the library, you were sort of like… I kept on thinking about you and… From the moment I had laid eyes on you, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. And… I have this project for my art class and I decided to draw you. I was supposed to turn it in today but… I thought I would have to ask for your permission.”  
“You have been thinking about me?” He saw his lips curled up in a smile. Dean felt his cheeks reddening.  
“Well… yeah kind of.” He paused, not knowing how to fill the empty silence. “So, now that you know what a creepy nerdy art student I am, do you still want to share an apartment with me?”  
“First of all, you are not creepy. Second of all, I like nerdy people and art. Lastly, I would love to live with you. You are nice and funny and talented and maybe one day you would show me those drawings of me. That would be nice.”  
Dean couldn’t help his smile.  
“Well, you see I am not that good at what I do. Maybe one day. Yeah… when I draw you perfect enough, I will show you.”  
They said goodbye and decided on a day for Cas to move in. Dean agreed to help him even though Cas said he didn’t have many things to move.  
Days felt like an eternity to Dean. To both of them.  
Every day was a torture yet another promise for the day to come where Dean would get to see his face every day and be with him. He calmed his thoughts with drawing him.   
That was absolute. It was like Castiel. It wasn’t unpredictable. If you drew the line curved, he would look happy, if you arched that brow, he would look suspicious, if you darkened a side of his face, he would look sad, if he could draw his eyes like the way he saw them, it would be beautiful.   
No matter how many times Dean tried to convince himself otherwise, one look at those drawings made him smile. He had loved Cas. Maybe it was for no discernible reason, maybe it had a deeper meaning or maybe his eyes were enough to make Dean fall in love with him. It had happened in a heartbeat, in a single flashing.   
Dean had loved Castiel. And that moment he knew that he would always fall in love, and it would always be like cutting open your skin, just that fast, just that absolute. And he knew every time he fell in love, it would be with him.   
He had seen something in Castiel that no one possibly could. He had found comfort in those eyes. And in those eyes, he saw something more beautiful than the stars.  
Castiel was his drug, and he was itching for his next fix.


End file.
